


Fish Out of Water

by kay_be



Series: Clexa Week 2017 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Camp AU, Clexa, Clexa Week 2017, ClexaWeek2017, F/F, clexa au, clexa camp au, stuck, stuck together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10092266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_be/pseuds/kay_be
Summary: Lexa and Clarke are working at a summer camp. Find out what happens when they get caught out in a storm and must seek shelter in the boathouse to wait out the storm.Clexa Week 2017 - Day 3 Stuck Together prompt





	1. Chapter 1

Lexa slides off the side of the sailboat and back into the water with a splash. Tucking in all her children, she had one boat left to bail and put to bed. Some staff grumbled at the task, but Lexa found a certain peace in it, like swimming laps or running, there was a solitude, a therapy in it. It allowed her to reorganize her thoughts, tucking them to bed like she did each boat moored off the shore of the waterfront. She pulls herself into the last sunfish with a kick and settles into the work.

It’s not until the excess water has been scooped out and she’s retying her last half hitch, prettying the sail when she hears it. A low distant rumble. She looks up surprised to see the darks clouds overhead, the mountains she had admired not twenty minutes ago, disappearing behind a wall of gray. She couldn’t even see the outline of Polis mountain anymore, and she knew what that meant. The pitter patter of the first rain drops pull her from her gazing. She loops the twine of the bailer (a glorified milk jug with the bottom cut off) around her head and shoulder like sash, and jumps into the water, swimming to shore with purpose. 

The rain is less indecisive as she treks up the beach and up onto the grassy area of the waterfront. She collects her clipboard and pile of clothing making a dash for the boathouse, the only building at the waterfront, when the thunder rumbles louder. So much for the go fish card tournament she had promised her campers before dinner.

Staring out the open doorway of the boathouse she sees a figure race by, jacket over her head as she beelines for the sailing point. Lexa watches the figure grab something from the point by the beach she had just vacated and run back toward the craft shop up the hill. 

She pauses when she sees the same figure return, running toward the sailing point again. Lexa sees their face.

“Clarke!” Lexa shouts over the wind, stepping out of the shelter of the small building, “What are you doing?”

The blonde turns, squinting trying to see who had called out to her, “Lexa?”

“Clarke, there’s a storm rolling in, you need to get inside.”

“I’ve just got a few more trips to do,” she holds up the paper, Lexa assumes artwork from some craft class.

Lexa runs over to Clarke, “Put them in the boat house, you don’t want to be out in the open by the water.”

Clarke nods, and switches direction for the boathouse. Lexa follows her on her next trip, helping to collect the last of the artwork. Papers clutched to their chests protectively, they sprint into the large hut, hair slicked down damp from the rain.

They lay out the pictures, watercolor and charcoal, over the bins of snorkels and life jackets.

“You realize how stupid that was of you, right?” Lexa says as she catches her breath, wiping the rain off of her face.

“So then why did you help?” Clarke bristles at being chastised. She runs her fingers through her hair, her natural waves flattened to her head by the rain, droplets falling to the wooden floor with each shake.

“Many hands make light work,” Lexa shrugs, “I knew you weren’t going to leave any out there, and if I helped then you’d get inside faster.”

Clarke softens slightly at the care in Lexa’s words. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The thunder’s rolls in more consistent rumbles as the sound of the rain increases from the whisper before curtain call to the applause of a show. “Looks like were stuck here for the storm.”

Clarke gives her a pained look, “We can’t just run back to our cabin’s quick?”

Lexa shakes her head peering out the doorway, “I definitely can’t, my cabin’s across camp. And I would highly advice against it even though yours is closer. Our co-staff can take care of the kids in the cabin, it’s better to stay safe.”

The first crack of lightening causes Clarke to flinch. She nods, conceding to the fact that they were not going anywhere for the foreseeable future.

Lexa towels herself off, grateful it’s still dry. Silently, she hands it to Clarke once she was done toweling out her hair as best she could. Without seeing it she knew it was a wild mess between the rain and the wind. She was grateful for having archery before sailing, and the extra clothes it meant she brought. If she had a double water activity afternoon she’d be stuck with just her bikini for the storm.

“So let’s see, what art was potentially worth your life?”

Clarke shoots her a look and Lexa is glad they aren’t in the archery hut with point weapons.

“It’s from my general crafts class, we did water colors and charcoals down at the sailing point today,” Clarke explains. “It was such a gorgeous afternoon I thought they’d be safe to dry out there,” she shakes her head, “apparently not.”

Lexa recalls seeing a class at the sailing point when she was sailing back in at the end of fifth period. It had been a gorgeous day for sailing, the wind blowing strong and true. Lexa wonders if that should have been a clue to her of the impending storm they know found themselves in.

Standing, she walks over to the haphazardly places pictures and started to inspect each piece, hands cupped behind her back, as if at an art gallery regarding the newest installation. Clarke couldn’t get the image out of her head, shaking it slightly before moving to look over Lexa’s shoulder.

“Tris,” Clarke explains as if a museum curator, cabin twelve –”

Lexa nods, “She’s in my cabin,” she says as she inspects her camper’s art, some brown lines with green blotches at the top.

“Right,” Clarke says, “she liked gnarly tree by the bench.”

“I’m surprised you got her to sit long enough to paint this.” Clarke hears the warmth in Lexa’s voice.

“We haggled, each stroke earned her a lap around the point.”

Lexa’s brow rose as she nods impressed, “Good tactic.” Clarke smiles at her before moving on to the next picture.

“Madison,” Clarke states, “cabin six, she was inspired by the ‘double dragonflies’,” Clarke adds air quotes around the term, “that kept landing on the rocks.”

An amused smile quirks the corner of Lexa’s lips, “You mean dragonflies having sex?”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes out exaggeratedly, “I felt the dragonflies and the bees’ conversation should be left to her parents though, so we went with the analogy of riding a tandem bicycle.” 

A bark of a laugh left Lexa’s at that, she threw a mirthful look over her shoulder at Clarke. The sound of Lexa laughing coupled with emotion freely shown on her face is doing a number on Clarke’s psyche. She thinks back to a conversation she had with Octavia during her first few days at camp, feeling put off by Lexa’s stoic demeanor. Unlike most of the staff that grew up coming here as a camper, then joining the staff, this was Clarke’s first summer. Her first real summer out of the city, let alone at a camp in nature. Sometimes it felt like an entirely new world. When she had expressed her shock at serious Lexa being the beloved counselor to the youngest cabin in camp, she had no idea how often Octavia’s words “You’d be surprised,” would haunt her that summer. 

“And did that work for you?” Lexa asks softly, bemused eyes locking with Clarke’s over her shoulder.

This time Clarke let out a throaty laugh, carding her hands through her damp hair. “After I explained what a tandem bike was, yes.”

“What about this charcoal?” Lexa observes a few unforgiving rain drops on the picture on the otherwise beautiful drawing.

Clarke is quiet until Lexa turns to look at her. “That’s mine.”

“It’s amazing,” Lexa says green eyes locked on blue before turning back to fully absorb the piece. The bottom of the sketch showed the rocks of the point, the lake scattered with sailboats occupying the body of the page, and a backdrop of mountains. Her eyes grew slightly as she realized it was her class. She leans toward the picture, finding herself on a boat sailing toward it’s mooring, laying across the bow of the small sailboat, hands outstretched. She had let a camper try and sail into the mooring that afternoon. Much like parallel parking, it took some finesse. The detail was amazing considering it was a drawn with a piece of charcoal from the fire pit. “You’re really talented.” She looks up to see Clarke staring at her, bottom lip between her teeth.

“Thanks.” It’s quiet, as if the moment demands it despite the shouting of the rain pounding against the roof and the thunder bowling around outside.

A loud crash of thunder followed in quick succession by the whip of lightening causes Clarke to jump and both girls to look outside.

The view out the open doorway of the boat house is a Van Gogh painting. Heavy brushstrokes of rain blurring the beach and lake. Bold moving colors framed by the doorway. 

When Lexa turns her attention back to the other occupant of the small boathouse she notices two things immediately. First, if anything Clarke is now standing closer to her than she was before, well in her personal space. Second, now that Clarke’s bottom lip is no longer distractingly stuck between her teeth, she can see it quivering.

“You’re cold,” the camp counselor in Lexa takes over immediately. It’s then she realizes Clarke is only in jean shorts and thin Henley, her jacket pathetically attempting to dry on a hook next to the door. “Here,” Lexa unzips her hoodie and hands it to Clarke.

“Lexa,” Clarke rebuffs, “I can’t take that,” she gestures her hand to Lexa now in basketball shorts and a black bikini top. It consumes all of Clarke’s energy to keep her eyes on Lexa’s face, and not track down to her scantily covered chest or bare, defined abs. Okay it takes all of her energy for her eyes to not linger.

“There’s a dry lifeguard shirt in here,” Lexa explains not taking her sweatshirt back and digging around in the bin full of lifeguard tubes in the corner until she finds her prize. The shirt is big on her, but if anything that’s better for their current situation.

Reluctantly, Clarke concedes and pulls on Lexa’s black hoodie, zipping it up with relish as the article, still warm from Lexa’s body envelopes her. Lexa nods at her smile, happy to have solved half the problem. Using her camp counselor MacGyver skills, she lays a few dry life jackets on the ground throwing a spare towel she found in the bin over the top. Sitting down on her makeshift mattress, she beckons Clarke to join her. 

Clarke sits closer than Lexa expects, but is pleased by it knowing it’s the best way to warm the girl up. The sky increasingly fades darker as the storm rolls through, looking more like like night than a summer afternoon. A sound of nearby lightning cracks through the air like a whip, causing Clarke to shuffle further into Lexa’s side. Lexa throws her mostly dry towel over their legs, then her arm around Clarke’s shoulder. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, we’re perfectly safe in here.”

“I’m not scared.”

Thunder booms overhead, and Lexa reckons the storm was just above them now as Clarke jumps and shamelessly burrows her head into her neck.

A muffled “Shut up,” emanates from the crook of Lexa’s neck and she chuckles.

“You’re still cold,” Lexa says, rubbing her hand up and down Clarke’s bicep in an attempt to warmth her up.

“I have an idea,” Clarke shuffles, her back resting against a bin as she spreads her legs and pats the area in between, “come here.”

“What?” Lexa hesitates.

“Come here,” Clarke repeats, tapping at the space between her legs again, “come warm me up.”

Lexa swallows hard as she slowly gets up, resettling between Clarke’s legs, her back to the blonde.

As soon as she’s sitting, Clarke pulls Lexa’s back flush against her chest. Throwing the towel around them both like a blanket.

“Shouldn’t this be the other way around if you want me to warm you up?” Lexa questions at suddenly being enveloped by Clarke and feeling a bit like a little spoon.

“Nope,” Clarke says and she wraps her arms around Lexa tighter, nuzzling her cold nose into the crook between her neck and shoulder. “This is perfect.”

Lexa lets out a shaky breath at the feeling of Clarke against her neck and forcing her body still when she speaks against her ear.

They were quiet for a while, watching the storm dance and rage outside. Clarke squeezing a little bit tighter every time there was a particularly loud crash of lightening or boom of thunder. Lexa let her head fall back onto Clarke’s shoulder, the nonsensical patterns Clarke’s finger tips drew along her arms, trailing up her biceps and under her t-shirt sleeves, lulling her while simultaneously alighting every atom touched. 

“You know; I think you’ve converted me.”

“Hmm?” Lexa hums in question, distracted by Clarke’s touch.

“In the city, storms are nothing like this. Even up in the sky on the 18th floor of a building, you’re always so removed, or grumpily trudging through the rain to get inside. But here,” her fingers begin their dance back down Lexa’s arms like ice skaters using all of the space in the rink. “It reminds me of just how massive and real they are. Like the definition of awesome.” She lightly scratches her short nails along Lexa’s forearms before slowly tracking back up. This time continuing past the sleeves to shoulders. “I’ll admit it’s a bit scary.” Lexa chuckles, trying hard to focus on Clarke’s words and not what her fingers were doing. Her own hands had mindlessly began drawing up and down Clarke’s legs. “But, if this is what a thunderstorm is like here,” Clarke moves her lips to Lexa’s ear, “I like it.”

A shuttering breath leaves Lexa as Clarke’s warm lips linger on her ear. She turns her head eyeing Clarke’s lips, a whisper away from her own. Their eyes lock in a heated gaze. The moment between turning her head and her removing that last breath of space the quiet electric moment that causes goose bumps and the hair on your arms to raise before the lightening strikes. 

They split the air, meeting halfway. The kiss is soft and insistent. When Lexa feels Clarke’s tongue swipe against her bottom lip she pulls away. Clarke whines at the loss of contact, only to hum in approval as Lexa immediately turns in Clarke’s lap for a better angle. Clarke roots her hands in the collar of Lexa’s shirt and pulls her down into another kiss. 

Lips slanted and mouth open, Lexa licks along Clarke’s bottom lip. Eagerly accepting the invitation, Clarke duels with Lexa’s tongue relinquishing control as Lexa maps out the roof of her mouth. Clarke’s hands wander over every inch of Lexa available to her. Traveling down her sides and up her shirt she scratches along Lexa’s abs before squeezing her hips. She sighs into the kiss at the feeling of Lexa’s skin on her fingertips. The pads of her thumps trace suggestive lines below the edge of her bikini top. Lexa nods, their lips never parting and she moans into Clarke’s mouth as eager hands cup her breasts. Clarke groans at the feeling of Lexa’s perfect body in her hands, nipples coming to attention against her palms. 

In a swift movement, Lexa grasps Clarke’s hips and pulls their make shift mattress away from the bins, causing Clarke to suddenly herself on her back. She grins into the kiss as Lexa lowers herself on top of Clarke, her hands reaching up behind Lexa’s neck pulling her back down. They both moan as Lexa’s hand, hands Clarke has caught herself staring at in more than one staff meeting, snake under Clarke’s shirt and reach their goal.

Crack! Boom! What sounds like an actual tree falling onto the room startles them, breaking their kiss. Wide eyes stare into each other as accelerated heart rates kick up a notch.

“What was that?” Clarke asks, catching her breath.

“I think,” Lexa pants, her hand still firmly placed on Clarke’s boob. “A tree branch fell on the boathouse.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment, both taking in overdue air and staring into each other’s eyes. Gazes dancing between eyes and lips.

“Do we usually get a lot of storms the second half of the summer?” Clarke asks innocently, breaking the silence as she brings their foreheads together, “I don’t know if I’ve told you this about me, but I’m a really big fan.”

Lexa laughs, connecting their lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I could definitely expand upon this one if you all are interested. Kudos and comments make the world go round. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me on tumbler @quesandgays


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa Camp AU - continuation of Clexa Week 2017's day three prompt "Stuck Together"
> 
> Busy with their cabins and activities, Lexa and Clarke haven't had a moment to themselves in the days since that thunderstorm that stranded them in the boathouse for a few hours with nothing to do but try and keep each other warm. Doing a favor for Raven, Lexa's usual routine is disrupted, unknowingly putting herself in Clarke's path.

Lexa looks up at the dramatic gasp from across the room. Standing in the doorway to the craft shop is Clarke, leaning against the doorframe, surprise etched across her face.

“Is that Lexa ‘I don’t have a crafty bone in my body’ Woods, in the craft shop? Doing something crafty?”

Lexa rolls her eyes at the blonde’s smirk, resuming her job of stirring the large vats of wax, throwing in a few more dye chips for good measure.

“I don’t think you can count doing someone a favor as crafty.”

“And here you had me thinking you were allergic to this building.”

“One cannot be allergic to a building, Clarke.”

“I thought you were scared you were going to catch glitter the like small pox if you were in here too long.” Lexa huffs as Clarke’s smirk widens, spreading from that corner of her mouth with the beauty mark up to the corners of her eyes. “You’re holding out on me, Commander.”

Lexa silently curses Anya and Raven, who are no doubt the cause of that old nickname leaving new lips. She also curses the faint blush she can feel blooming across her cheekbones, at the way that old nickname sounds leaving those lips.

Clarke leaves the threshold and walks over to Lexa, hips swaying lazily, “What’cha makin’?” She inquires, leaning her hip against the side of the counter, arms crossed curiously.

“Wax for the candles, for the first month festival,” Lexa explains, “after the banquet we do a candle lighting, signifying the halfway point of the summer, and in the case of a lot of the girls, the end of camp for the year.”

It was for tradition, and she told Raven she’d help. Sometimes she forgets that this is Clarke’s first summer, all of the traditions ingrained in Lexa since she was eight were new and foreign to the blonde standing in front of her.

“And you’re in charge of this task?” Clarke asks with a furrow in her brow.

“No, craft shop head is. But, Raven has waterskiing fifth, and has to dock the boat afterward then make the trek across camp after that, and I didn’t want her to have to rush. Besides, I have sailing fifth, so I was on this side of camp anyway.”

Clarke’s expression softens. Being co-staff with Raven, mama bears of a cabin full of 13 - 15-year-old girls in the older Skaikru unit, she had witnessed Raven’s daily struggle navigating camp’s rocky and root-filled paths with her brace. She was in awe at how the girl would grit her teeth and never complain. Clarke would always grab Raven’s towel off the line when she went to get her own in the morning or pick up a heating pad for her at night ‘just happening’ by the infirmary, taking the longer path back to the cabin, anything to alleviate her co-staff efforts without being too conspicuous. It was unspoken between the two of them; Raven would never ask for help, instead giving silent thanks with a nod or ignore Clarke’s flimsy lie as to why the infirmary happened to be on her path when they both knew it was out of the way. 

“What can I do to help?”

Lexa looks up from the bubbling wax and smiles. It’s small, a single corner of her mouth ticking up, but Clarke notices. She has paid enough attention, more than she is willing to admit really, to the brunette in front of her the last four weeks to know the tells in the stoic counselor. “Grab that awl and break up some of those blocks of wax there,” nodding her head to her right where the boxes of clear hard blocks of wax resides. 

“Useful, physically therapeutic, and a little bit dirty” Clarke teases as she rolls up her sleeves, “my favorite type of task.”

Clarke’s own grin grows, claiming victory as she watches that small smile tick at the corner of Lexa’s mouth again. “Thanks.”

The two chatted throughout their task, conversation flowing more freely since the boat house incident as Lexa had dubbed it in her head. It had been a few days and though neither had spoken of it since, Lexa found herself in the presence of Clarke more, not knowing if it was happenstance or one seeking the other out.

A box on the counter now overflows with chunks of clear wax, ready to go. Three vats of colored wax, red, blue, and yellow bubble full and hot. They had made considerable headway in the prep for candle making.

“You can’t still be shocked Clarke; you’ve spent the last hour in here with me.” 

Clarke had taken over stirring duty as Lexa tapes out the tables, creating squares for each cabin to leave their candles to harden. 

“Well, I’m sorry if it takes me a bit of time to get used to the scientific breakthrough that a fish can breathe out of water.” Her grin expands exponentially at her own joke as she watches green eyes scrape the rafters then the floor with the strength of Lexa’s eye roll. Besides archery, all of Lexa’s activities were in the water. 

“Clearly, you’ve seen me out of the water before.” 

“I don’t know, it was raining pretty hard that day in the boat house, I figured maybe you were absorbing the water through your skin, like osmosis or something.” She quips before they both freeze, bringing up the boat house and what they had both been so elegantly dancing around.

She clumsily drops the ladle in her hand, blue wax splashing up. “Shit!”

Lexa is immediately in front of her, lifting Clarke’s hand in her own, wiping the still liquefied wax off pale skin with the pad of her thumb. “Ah sorry, I forgot to mention it can bite back.” Lexa says as she continues to rub the spot on back of Clarke’s hand soothingly, distracting her from the momentary pain. That’s when Clarke spots the harden drips and splotches of wax, clear, red, and blue, dotted along Lexa’s hands and arms.

“Lexa…”

Dropping Clarke’s hand, she holds up both of her own, inspecting them, as if noticing the accidental art littered across her skin for the first time. “This,” she holds up for Clarke to see, “is exactly why campers don’t get to do this part. They’ll hand us their cup, give a color request, and then we hand it back for them to dip the wick in.”

“How are you not yelping every two seconds?”

The brunette shrugs, “High pain tolerance? And I’m just used to it I guess.”

The concern on Clarke’s face dissolves into something more mischievous at her words and a blonde eyebrow quirks up, “Used to hot wax being spilled on you this afternoon, or used to hot wax being spilled on you in a general life sort of way?”

Lexa blushes at the implication, sputtering and choking on air, “No! No,” she attempts to collect herself, finding it infinitely more difficult as Clarke’s expression turns to Cheshire cat satisfaction levels. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that she is Lexa Woods, confident and capable in every day life, even more so on this island in the woods at camp, “I just, I’ve been staff here since I was sixteen, I’ve helped make the candles before.” She exhales slowly, better, she told herself, calm and collected. She squirms again when she makes eye contact with Clarke. The look Clarke is giving her heats her up more than the boiling wax. “And…I may like candles.”

“You may like candles?” Clarke repeats slowly, blue eyes locked on green.

“Yes.”

“Should I change your ringtone on my phone to Ricky Martin? Livin’ La Vida Loca? No judgment here, by the way. I can’t say I’ve participated in wax play, but,” she rubs the still slightly red spot on her hand before locking her eyes with Lexa, “I don’t know, could be a kink worth trying out.”

Lexa swallows hard, in full knowledge of the blush blazing across her face and heating her ears at Clarke’s words, at her suggestion. They are standing in each other’s space, unsure of how they got there.

“Pick a color.”

Clarke blinks at the about face in topic, blues eyes darting between Lexa’s. “What?”

“For your candle,” Lexa repeats, telling herself to get it together in the silent beat between them. “Figure we should do a test run and make our own now before the crowds show.”

Clarke nods, biting her lip, eyes still dancing between green.

“Color?” Lexa repeats, grabbing a paper cup off the table, not leaving Clarke’s space.

“Green,” she says it with such pace and certainty she surprises herself, her gaze leaving green eyes for the first time, glancing down at the paper cup that Lexa has paused writing her initials on in sharpie. 

Lexa nods, leading them to the wax, ladling yellow and then blue, creating a teal-ish green. She holds the cup up for Clarke’s for approval. Clarke, once again close, stares into the cup and then back into Lexa’s eyes.

“Needs a little more yellow,” she holds Lexa’s gaze. The brunette gulps as she nods, scooping a bit more yellow into the cup and swirling the contents. She offers the cup up again.

Clarke’s eyes travel between the hot green wax and Lexa’s eyes a few times, “Perfect,” she breathes out, Lexa feeling the warm air expel from her lips. When did they get so close? She nods unware and uncaring which of them inched closer to the other. Her gaze locked on blue, the blue of the lake on a sunny, choppy day. She knew what color she wanted her candle to be as Clarke’s eyes flutter shut. Her lips are as warm as the lake in the rain and as soft as the clouds on a clear day. The quiet moan that leaves Clarke as lips part and join like crests of waves, hit’s Lexa like a lightening strike blazing through her blood and grounding in the warmth of her chest. She deepens the kiss.

“Lexa!” A breathless Raven shuffles through the door, not looking up from her clipboard. “Thank you so much – I didn’t mean to be so long – ” She stops mid sentence, noticing Clarke’s presence, “Oh, hey Clarke.” She eyes the room, noting the completed prep and the closeness of the two staff in the room. “Everything good?”

“Yup!” Lexa squeaks out, appalled at the yip in her own voice. 

Clarke chuckles as she slowly moves away from Lexa, as if Raven won’t notice the subtle movement. “Hey Rae, I saw the Commander here in the craft shop and had to investigate. New species walking on land and such.”

Raven laughs, “Clarke, I’m not a T-Rex, I can see more than sudden movement.”

Clarke and Lexa freeze, eyes widening, causing Raven to laugh more. “Look, Lexa, tomorrow morning you forget the ski boat is down to half a tank of gas, and I forget walking in on whatever this is.”

Lexa balks, “Half a tank of gas? I just refilled it – what did you…” she trails off as Raven lifts her eyebrows. She glances quickly between Clarke and Raven, “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has hit kudos and commented - huge motivator to write more. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me on tumbler @quesandgays


End file.
